


Old Habits

by icarus_chained



Series: True Deceptions [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Justice League of America (Comics)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Family, Gen, M/M, Spies, Wartime Romance, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to True Deceptions. Alfred takes out some old memories, and he and Bruce have a talk about family, and love, and choices, and microcams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Habits

It was an indulgence, of course, but Alfred so rarely allowed himself those that he felt justified in taking just this one. And seeing Katerina again had wakened a wave of nostalgia in him, enough that he wanted a few moments of peace to sit down with his memories, to enjoy the flavour of bygone days. So he had retired, after sorting out the inevitable mess, up here to his private study, tucked away in a corner of the Manor that was rarely used, though naturally it didn't look it. If he was to spend any amount of time in a place, it damn well better be well taken care of. It was simply a matter of pride.

He sat at the desk, the box opened in front of him, and lifted out the yellowing files with care. Given when and how they'd been taken, the photographs were not exactly of the best quality. They were grainy, and faded, and some of the earlier ones were partially obscured where a spot of his blood had dried on the lense, before he'd realised it and cleaned it off. Nonetheless. They were precious to him, and all the more so because no-one, absolutely no-one, knew of their existance.

He lifted them out, one at a time, after disarming the little trap he'd laid for incautious fingers, and laid them on the desk. And looked at them, silently, tracing aged fingers over their faded surfaces.

That one. That was Katerina as she leaned over him after he'd come through the window. The camera must have been switched on by accident in his fall. The expression on her face was shocked, concerned, and subtly amused. Of course, he'd just apologised by that point, which had seemed to tickle her fancy no end. 

And there. He'd figured out that the camera was active by this point, but ... well, she'd been so very beautiful. She was wrestling with his shirt in this one, so it was blurred as she jostled the camera, but her expression of mulish disapproval was plain. He empathised with J'onn now, having heard similar, equally ridiculous, rants about being fine from Master Bruce, but back then his pride had demanded no less. Alfred allowed himself a momentary smile, wondering how the Martian had dealt with the first of those rants from Bruce. Probably with the same combination of compassion and stubbornness Katerina had shown him.

Then that one. That was her coming back through the door the second day. Tugging at her scarf, bag of groceries in the other arm heading for the counter. That was when he'd wished he knew how to make her smile, how to dispell the indefinable air of loneliness he'd sensed about her, and she'd turned to him and given him the most radiant smile he'd ever seen. Of course, he understood now. J'onn had sensed his thoughts. But that was fine too. The smile had been real, and his desire to help had caused it, and that changed understanding nearly made the remembered moment all the more precious. That had been the moment he'd felt himself falling in love with her, and that he'd caused that smile sent warmth radiating through him, even now.

And then ... that one. A very grainy, very poor photo, taken in the dark at four o' clock on the third morning. When he'd woken, sprawled across her bed, to find her tucked in beside him. The picture was too poor for him to be able to define her expression, but he remembered it. Even asleep, maybe especially in sleep, the loneliness that had haunted her lay clear across her features. Hearing J'onn had explained that, in part. _But it was ... pleasant ... to lie with someone again. To be close enough to share their dreams, if I'd wished._ Of course, J'onn had lost his wife. Lost everything. Humanity must have seemed such a poor substitute, back then. He'd certainly been poor substitute. All that day, he'd had panicked thoughts of leaving. He'd loved her, and it had terrified him beyond measure. All he could think of was getting out, getting away from her before she fell through a window with a bullet in _her_ shoulder. And J'onn, so lonely, had felt that from him.

He smoothed his knuckle over the line of her shoulder in the picture, moving his thumb over the shadow of her face as if to brush her hair aside, and sighed. Deception had been the name of the game, and back then neither of them had known how to avoid failing the other. And in the end, they'd each found their own way. That didn't mean he didn't still regret his foolishness, and it certainly didn't mean he didn't still care.

"Did you ever think to go back?" came a soft voice from behind him, and Alfred stiffened as he turned to see Bruce leaning on the doorjamb. Bruce was barefoot, wearing only a shirt and pants, and combined with the rare softness of his expression it made him look younger. It made him look like the little boy Alfred had first come to know, and love, all those years ago.

"Pardon?" he asked, still stiff. Bruce smiled a little.

"May I come in?" he asked, politeness bred into every inch of him, and Alfred looked down at the pictures on his desk, and back up at the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his son, and nodded. Bruce smiled shyly, and padded over to stand at his shoulder, and look down at his treasures. Alfred let him.

Bruce looked down at the memories of a forgotten time, and at the face in them that was now familiar to him. His hand moved automatically towards the pictures to shift them a little, into better alignment, and then he caught himself. His hand hovering an inch above the papers, he looked to his oldest friend for permission. Alfred smiled at that, and nodded.

Bruce touched them lightly, tracing over them, his eyes sharpening with the intelligent regard of a detective as he arranged them like a puzzle into roughly chronological order. He looked at Alfred for confirmation of his guesswork, and with a faint grin, Alfred reached over his hand to correct his few mistakes. Bruce nodded, and looked back down, at the story the pictures told.

"How did you take these?" he asked, studying the light, the angles, in search of the source. Alfred grinned, and patted his shirt collar.

"Microcam," he explained, a hint of devilment in his eyes, and Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Never leave the home-country without it, young sir."

Bruce's mouth twitched. "I won't ask," he murmured. "I did wonder why you and Lucius had so much to say on the prototype for the wristwatch model. Guess now I know."

"Now you have an idea, certainly," Alfred allowed, and smiled sharply. "Don't be too presumptuous." Bruce laughed softly, then sobered as his fingers traced over the photo of that second day. Over her smile. Alfred let his own smile fade as well.

"Did you never think of going back?" Bruce repeated. "Did you ever think of trying to find her?" There was something in his voice that Alfred couldn't quite pin down. Something a little wistful.

"Many times," he admitted softly. He trailed his fingers over the history laid out before them, and his hand hesitated a little every time his fingertips brushed the image of her face. "I wondered if she'd made it to Nantes, where she'd gone after that. If I could find her, if I wanted to. But ..." he sighed. "It's all academic. I know now I would never have found her. Not unless I went looking for a shapeshifting, telepathic alien."

"You never know," Bruce said gently, laying a hand carefully on Alfred's shoulder. "J'onn might have let you find him, if he'd known you were looking. He can be ... strange, that way. And I know he cared for you."

Alfred looked at him. "And how do you know that?" he asked softly, and a little dangerously. Bruce looked down at him seriously.

"It's easy to tell when J'onn cares for someone," he answered, steadily. "And even Clark noticed it down in the cave. J'onn was terrified he'd hurt you by his deception. And," he added softly. "I know you. I know you cared for her, and ... it's difficult, not to return your care, Alfred. I should know."

Alfred looked at him, feeling tears rise in his throat, and looked away. Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently, and Alfred felt him shift uncomfortably. He allowed himself a trembling little smile, at how very like him Bruce actually was. J'onn may have been right, there. Not that he would ever have admitted it out loud, or within range of telepathy. In many ways, after so many years, Bruce really was the son he'd never had.

He got himself under control, and reached up to rest his hand lightly over the strong one on his shoulder. "Well," he commented gently, "some people are worth caring for. I can't help that." And smiled as it became Bruce's turn to look away before he revealed more emotion than either of them would be comfortable with. But neither of them moved their hands an inch, the connection solid between them. As always.

"Do you ..." Bruce began, and stopped. He swallowed a little, and when he went on his voice was firmer. "Do you ever ... regret ... giving up that life? Coming ... coming here? There was so much you could have done. Other places you would have been needed."

Alfred closed his eyes, a strange smile drifting over his aged features as tears resolutely settled in his chest. It was so easy to forget, sometimes, that at heart Bruce really was that little boy, who'd learned so very early that even those you think will never leave can be taken. Who waited all the time, in some hidden place in his heart, for those he cared for to leave him. And he wondered why Alfred loved him so.

Looking up at him, Alfred gently removed his hand, and stood up. Bruce looked at him, composed but wary, and Alfred smiled. Moving over a little, he reached back into the wooden chest, and disarmed the security measures for the next level. Bruce raised an eyebrow, and nodded his instinctive approval for the caution. Alfred shook his head wryly. What a family they were! Then he gestured a little for Bruce to come closer, and pulled out the _other_ photos.

He watched Bruce's expression change as he laid them out, one by one, on the desktop above Katerina. Some older, some very recent. Some good, taken with a proper camera, some as grainy as the older ones. He smiled a little deeper at those ones. He laid them out, and stood back a little to watch as his son studied them.

Bruce moved in, his hand reaching out to touch the images lightly, hesitantly, his expression something indescribable. He touched the picture of himself, seven years old, in the park with his parents. He touched a grainy one with his twelve year old self glaring stubbornly up at something a little above the camera, face set in mulish but somehow desolate pride. His hand passed over himself at twenty, returned from one of his early patrols, battered and fiercely elated. And then himself and Clark, back in the early days of grudging respect. And then himself and Dick, practicing aerial manouvers, down in the cave. And then Jason. And Dick and Tim, playfully growling at each other. And Dick and Barbara, at some long ago Christmas party. And himself, asleep at his desk at Wayne Tower. And more. So many more. A lifetime, in pictures. And the lives in them. All Alfred's.

Alfred blinked a little as Bruce's smile became that wavering type of smile that comes when there are tears lurking behind it, and his eyes were shining when he turned to his old friend. But, true to them both, the first thing he said was entirely innocuous. "And how did you take these?" Bruce murmured, and there was laughter and tears in equal measure, hiding beneath his steady tone. Alfred smiled back, his own tears as conspicuously hidden.

"Microcam," he responded lightly, his lip twitching with desperate humour. "Old habits die hard, after all." And Bruce laughed, softly, and Alfred's world settled back around him. Family was like that. Worth everything. J'onn was right there too. He gotten the family he deserved, or at least he hoped he deserved it. But it was his now, for better or worse, and he would have it no other way.

Bruce looked at him, hands moving hesitantly forward, and then he seemed to decide hell with it, and pulled Alfred into an awkward, desperate hug. Alfred smiled blindly to himself, and hugged him back, holding his son close. It was everything he needed.

True to form, as always, neither of them could sustain the moment for very long. Bruce rubbed his shoulder a couple of times, as if apologising, and gently disentangled himself. Alfred smiled at him, shaking his head and patting the boy gently on the shoulder. Oh, yes. The family he deserved. Every awkward inch.

Bruce stepped back, half-turning as if to leave, and paused to trail his knuckles over the desk, to brush the faces of people they knew, people that mattered to them both. And his hand lingered over Katerina, and something finally clicked for Alfred. A shock of absolute joy flashed through him at the thought, and he couldn't quite keep the happy comprehension from his face. Bruce looked at him, and an utterly rare, and incredibly precious expression passed over his features. Alfred had to clench his fist to keep from brushing his collar, to resist capturing the shy hope in a face he thought had forgotten the expression altogether.

"Bruce?" he asked softly. His boy looked at him carefully, and he smiled. "Do something for me?"

Bruce nodded firmly. "Anything," he murmured, and Alfred knew he meant it. And he knew he was doing the right thing. He spent so much of his time trying to keep Bruce from making the mistakes he'd made, once upon a time, and Bruce, ever so slowly, was succeeding. Alfred was sure his boy could make it work, where he had once so spectacularly failed.

"Take care of him for me?" he commanded, at once making a request, and granting permission. "Don't ... Don't let him ever be alone. He doesn't deserve to be alone."

Bruce looked at him, and nodded slowly, a pledge as grave and solemn as any life-oath. And then he smiled, a quicksilver dart of joy and love, and Alfred's heart clenched. He nodded back, and watched as his son walked away.

Then he looked down, at the memories laid out beside him, and smiled. He gathered them up, gathered them together, and placed them gently back in their chest, rearming the little security measures as he did so. And he was careful, as he gathered them, to put those ancient pictures in with the rest, for the first time ever. They weren't his sole secret anymore, and hopefully, given time and patience ... Katerina might yet be part of his family once again.

He closed the lid, and let his aged hands rest on it for a moment, just looking at them, at the time they represented passing. And he laughed. Because no matter how much time had passed, he couldn't regret it. He couldn't regret a single thing that had happened, if it had led him here. He had his family, now.

And given time, his family could fix anything.


End file.
